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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29451261">The Dickens Affair</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebraHicks/pseuds/DebraHicks'>DebraHicks</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Christmas, Gen, Hurt/Comfort</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:48:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,107</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29451261</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebraHicks/pseuds/DebraHicks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon and Illya have survived their first year as partners.  Will an accident on the icy roads of Missouri stop not only their Christmas together but their future?</p><p>Printed in "Remote Control #3" /1/1993<br/>Fan Q Award for Best UNCLE Gen Story</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Dickens Affair</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>..pgno1  	..foot64r##  </p><p>  The Dickens Affair </p><p> </p><p>..LAYOUT 3</p><p>Napoleon Solo was feeling especially pleased with himself as he pulled into the parking place in Brooklyn Heights.  In front of him a small green wreath on the brownstone's door was the only thing on the street that marked the Christmas season.  He went three flights up, followed the halls around until he was facing a door over the street he had just come up from and knocked.   </p><p>There was the sound of several bolts being drawn back then the door creaked open. A blonde head peaked cautiously around the corner. "Napoleon!"  </p><p>"Illya."  Napoleon managed to control his smile.   </p><p>"Come in."  Illya pulled the door open and motioned Solo in.  As his partner followed him he started picking up various papers and items of clothing. "What brings you..."  </p><p>"Don't worry about picking up.  We won't be here long."  </p><p>Illya dropped the stack of junk in a different location. "An assignment? But we were to have Christmas leave..."  </p><p>"Did you have plans?"  </p><p>The Russian shrugged, "No."  </p><p>"Then pack.  You're coming home with me."  Napoleon smiled as Illya turned to stare at him.  </p><p>"What?"  </p><p>"Home. With. Me,"  Napoleon said clearly.  He took Illya by the arm, headed him toward the bedroom. "Joplin, Missouri."  </p><p>Illya pulled away.  "Napoleon, I can't..."  </p><p>The seriousness of his expression stopped Napoleon.  "Illya, I didn't think.  You don't celebrate Christmas?"  </p><p>"No, uh, I mean I never had a chance,"  Illya stammered, "What I mean is I can't just barge in on your family's holiday."  </p><p>Napoleon's smile returned.  "The family knows all about my new partner and can't wait to meet him."  Without waiting for a reply he opened the dresser and started tossing socks over his shoulder onto the unmade bed. "Besides, if you don't go who'll fly the plane?"  </p><p>Illya knew better than to ask how Napoleon had scored a plane for private use.  </p><p> </p><p>"Only five?"  Illya questioned as they climbed back into the small twin-engine plane.  It was just past one, New York time, and they had enjoyed a large meal while waiting for their first refueling.  </p><p>"Maybe six, if Samantha's husband makes it.  He's with the fire department and sometimes has trouble getting off at Christmas."  </p><p>"I come from a large family,"  Illya volunteered.  "Four sisters, three brothers, more aunts and uncles that I can count."  </p><p>"Do you ever hear from them?" Napoleon asked conversationally.</p><p>"No,"  Illya said sadly. "Not since ... not for a long time."  </p><p>"Sorry."  Napoleon immediately regretted the question.</p><p>Illya flashed a rare smile at him, "It's okay."  He glanced through the window as he powered up the engine.  "Beautiful country. Next stop, Nashville, overnite stop then St. Louis and, if the weather holds, you'll be home tomorrow."  </p><p>Napoleon frowned.  It was the first time since they'd become partners that Illya had said anything about his past and he had stopped it with a completely tactless question.  He promised himself that he would make it up to Illya over the next week.  "We'll probably hit snow after we leave St. Louis.  We always have snow this time of year.  Good sledding weather."  </p><p>"Sleds!"  Illya sounded surprisingly young. "I love sleds."  </p><p>Napoleon gave himself a few points toward making up for the earlier question.  He treasured the odd, rare times when Illya's normally grim expression gave way to almost childish enthusiasm. The conversation moved on to sledding, kid's stunts and how some children ever managed to live to adulthood.   </p><p>The winter countryside flowed by beneath them.  </p><p> </p><p>"It's closer to five hours,"  Napoleon consulted his watch.  </p><p>"Bad head wind,"  Illya remarked.  </p><p>Napoleon looked worriedly over at his younger partner.  They had hit the edge of a cold front just outside of Nashville.  Nashville had been snowed in, forcing them to continue west.  For two hours Illya had been fighting the small plane through heavy air currents.  </p><p>"Are you all right?"  </p><p>"A little tired,"  Illya admitted honestly.  </p><p>"Great way to start a holiday,"  Napoleon mumbled.  "When we get to St. Louis we get some sleep."  Illya started to protest.  "We'll still make it, four or five hours won't matter.  Means I'll miss having to come up with a reason for not going to church service."  </p><p>Illya glanced over at him.  "Why would you try to get out of it?"  </p><p>Napoleon shrugged. "Not religious.  I like the season for showing people you care about them but I don't buy the rest of it."  </p><p>Before Illya could comment the right wing dipped and he had to fight the stick over.  The radio crackled with a signal from St. Louis airport and he started landing procedures.  Less than an hour later they had landed, unloaded, rented a car and were asleep in a small inn just outside the city limits.  </p><p> </p><p>"Three."  Illya answered reluctantly.  </p><p>Napoleon laughed.  "Three?  In four months! Not bad."   </p><p>The snow seemed to be growing heavier, the whiteness wrapped around them, cutting off the landscape, isolating the car.  It was warm inside, the dashboard lights casting a soft glow to the interior.  It was an atmosphere that made conversation easy and Napoleon had taken full advantage of it to learn what he could of his very private partner.  </p><p>Illya looked suspiciously at him.  "And you, Napoleon?  How many partners before me?"  </p><p>Without answering Napoleon slowed the car carefully, turned onto a narrow two lane highway.  "Snow's getting worse."  </p><p>"Napoleon,"  Illya insisted.  </p><p>"Five.  In a year,"  Napoleon confessed.  </p><p>"I understand Mr. Waverly raised quite a few eyebrows when he teamed us,"  Illya told him with a slight smile.  "The American playboy and the mysterious Russian." </p><p>Napoleon was too busy driving to see Illya's expression turn troubled. "Do you think it will work?"  </p><p>The question took Napoleon by surprise.  Doubt and hesitancy were not things he normally associated with Illya. He cleared his throat. "I will confess to having some reservations."  </p><p>"Yes?"  Illya asked, voice even.  </p><p>Napoleon bit the side of his lip.  "You weren't exactly what I had in mind for a partner.  You're..uh..."  </p><p>"Blonde?"  Illya supplied.  </p><p>Napoleon nodded. "And..."  </p><p>"Cute?"  There was a vague, disgusted tone to the accented voice. "Two very unlikely handicaps, but there."  </p><p>"I wouldn't say cute."  Napoleon replied.  He was suddenly embarrassed, and uneasy.  He could charm the birds out of the trees and the girls off of the bar stools but he couldn't give his partner an honest answer.  "Not cute... handsome."  </p><p>"Thank you,"  Illya said sincerely.  </p><p>"You are also a challenge; smart, fast, a good fighter and an excellent shot.  I've had a hard time keeping up with you, my friend. And yes, I think it will work.  I think if we keep going like we have been we could become the best UNCLE's ever had."  </p><p>The muscles across Illya's shoulders relaxed.  "Could be?"  He teased, "I thought we already were."  </p><p>There was a muffled thump as the front left tire blew.  The car slid sideways, throwing Illya against the door, yanking the wheel from Napoleon's hands.  Before he could regain control the back wheels hit the snow laden shoulder.  There was the sound of metal hitting wood, a glimpse of a white world then darkness.  </p><p> </p><p>Napoleon's leg hurt and he was shaking with cold. Opening his eyes slowly he discovered he was laying in a snow bank at the bottom of a tree, his right leg twisted beneath him at a sharp angle.  It took a second for him to remember how he had gotten there.  Very slowly he uncurled his leg and pain momentarily darkened the world around him.  He sat still while his vision cleared. Through the swirling snow he saw the path of destruction the car had left on its way down the hill. The sound of rushing water carried over the strong wind.  </p><p>"Illya?!"   </p><p>The leg gave as he tried to stand, pitching him back into the soft snow.  He spared a precious minute to run a hand along it. There was nothing broken, he hoped.  With a concentrated effort he made it up. Cursing his slowness, falling twice, he followed the furrow the car had left toward the ice-encrusted river.  </p><p>The sedan had hit the water trunk first.  It rested at a slight angle, water lapping almost as high as the front door. Napoleon waded in, barely noticing the water's temperature around his already numbed legs.  The glass was shattered, spider-web-outlined in crystal ice. Illya lay against the door, the water waist-deep around him; mist had frosted his hair and blood ran sluggishly down one fair cheek.  </p><p>Napoleon tugged at the door but it refused to move.  Cursing he braced one hand on the frame, panic pushing strength into his other arm.  As he yanked with all his strength the door jerked open with a groan of scraping metal.  Illya slipped out and  Napoleon caught him mere inches above the water.  Thankful that the cold covered his pain, he got Illya over his shoulder, staggered to shore, then went down with a curse.  </p><p>Napoleon's hands were shaking too hard for him to have any hope of finding a pulse.  He laid his ear against Illya's chest, held his breath, heard the slow, faint heartbeat, and shallow rasp of breath. Illya started trembling under his hands, then moaned.  </p><p>"Illya."  Napoleon rubbed the white hands. "Wake up, Illya."  </p><p>The blue eyes opened to slits. "Napoleon?"  </p><p>"Come on, Illya."  He shook his partner. "We've got to get to the road."  </p><p>"Cold."  Illya's eyes drifted shut.  </p><p>"No!"  Napoleon shook him, hard, tried to drag him to his feet, barely avoided falling. Pain shot up his leg, forcing a gasp from him.  </p><p>Blue eyes opened again, slight awareness in them.  "You're hurt?"  </p><p>Napoleon managed to smile over his chattering teeth.  "Leg.  Come on, Illya, we have to get to the road."  </p><p>"Coats?"  Illya whispered.  With Napoleon's arm around his waist, he made it to his hands and knees.  </p><p>"Soaked, all the luggage."  Napoleon patted his back.  "Let me get up first, then we can prop each other up."  </p><p>They made it on the third try, staggered two dozen yards, then Illya went down.  Napoleon was shaking harder now, couldn't feel Illya's arm beneath his hand, couldn't see more than a few feet through the snow.  His partner was still, his eyes closed.  It occurred to Napoleon that Illya had stopped shaking.  That scared him.  Hypothermia could hit incredibly fast.  Being in cold water for even a few minutes could leech off enough body heat to be fatal. He had no way of knowing how long Illya had been in the water.  </p><p>"Illya..."  </p><p>"The presents..."  Illya mumbled. "In the trunk...we need..."  </p><p>Moving was becoming difficult but Napoleon got his arms back around the cold body, forced them both to their feet.  "Just a little further."  </p><p>The road was a far-away, barely visible black strip when Illya again slipped out of Napoleon's weak grasp.  Napoleon knelt next to him, pulled him into a tight embrace, tried to rub feeling back into the blonde's back and arms.  </p><p>"Napoleon,"  Illya's voice was weak. "Go on...get help..too cold..."  </p><p>"Got to stay together, partner,"  Napoleon explained, forcing his mind to remember what he could from his survival training in the cold.  He had to think, find an answer, before his mind started to wander.  "Together."  </p><p>A deep drift sparkled to his left.  Mostly dragging Illya by one arm, he moved toward it.  He scooped out a trench as best he could then rolled Illya into it.  Their only hope was to use the snow as insulation, huddle together, conserve what heat they could.  He was getting sleepy, and vaguely recognized that as another sign of freezing.  </p><p>He wiggled in on top of Illya, chilled beyond the cold around him at how still and pale the blonde was; he pushed them both deeper into the whiteness. Moving slowly, he shifted to cover as much of the smaller man as he could. Putting his head on Illya's chest he listened again for the reassuring heartbeat.  It was there but slow, faint, the breathing light and swallow.  </p><p>"No."  The anguished plea forced itself from between Napoleon's clenched teeth. "Silly..all the way from Russia..freeze to death in Missouri."  </p><p>He moved his hands up to Illya's cold face, rubbed the cheeks with fingers that had no feeling.  "Come on.  Don't die. Please, God.."  </p><p>The only response was the breathing that grew gradually fainter. "Not fair,"  Napoleon muttered.  "I need you.  You're more than my partner. You're my best friend."  </p><p>Tears threatened but he blinked them away, refused to give into the lost building around him.  He had finally found someone, an equal partner to share his joys, danger, fears and fate.  They had only just started, it couldn't end this soon.  </p><p>"Please God, don't let him die,"  Napoleon pleaded.  He suddenly understood the saying about there being no atheists in foxholes. Only the men weren't praying for themselves, they were praying for the man next to them. "Don't take him, God.  I need him.  I ..."   </p><p>The slight movement of the chest below ceased.  Though the haze that covered his senses, fear hit him like a shot.  "No!  God, no!"  </p><p>Something touched his shoulder through the snow.  He pulled away, held the cold body tighter.  "Lordy child," a woman's voice said, "Stop cursing the Lord like that!  I found you, didn't I?"  </p><p>"Too late,"  Napoleon whispered.  "He's dead."  </p><p>"We'll see,"  the voice said.  </p><p>Someone urged him up, lifted under his arms.  He clung to Illya. The hands were strong, insistent, warm.  After a minute his own body betrayed him, moving instinctively toward the warmth.  He cried out as the wind bit into him when the snow fell away.  The world blanked out.  </p><p>When he next became conscious, he was laying in the back of a wood plank wagon, the smell of hay and horse around him.  "Illya?"  </p><p>A dim figure approached him, gently, easily laid a familiar body next to him.  "Lie still, son.  I got you both."  </p><p>A rough blanket settled over him. There was a jerk, then the unmistakable rhythm of a trotting horse.  None of it mattered. All he knew was that his friend of only five months was dead at his side. The dark closed in again, filled the emptiness he felt.  </p><p> </p><p>Warmth, light, soft blankets.  Slowly, reluctantly Napoleon relinquished his hold on the wonderful dream and floated back to painful reality.  He blinked against the grey daylight in his face, unbelievingly touched the blanket pulled up over his shoulders.  His joy at being alive faded as the sensation of Illya's cold, still body under him returned. He flipped off the blanket, scrambled up, favoring his leg.  </p><p>The room was warmed by the air floating in from the front room. He limped into the other room.  A fireplace blazed low against one wall.  Through a window he caught sight of a beautiful, white-and-silver-lined world.  None of it made an impression. Two doors stood partially opened on opposite walls.  He ripped open the first one. The large country kitchen was empty.  </p><p>There was hesitation as he faced the other door, brought on by fear of what he would find. The door swept silently, smoothly open. Illya lay face up on a four-poster bed, three heavy quilts covering the slight, pale form. Napoleon walked over, stood next to the bed. The gold hair stood out sharply against the white pillow.  Napoleon swallowed as he remembered the white snow that had last surrounded him.  Tears came again; he reached out, touched the fair cheek. Illya moaned softly, shifted under the quilts.  </p><p>Napoleon jerked his hand back, "Jesus...Illya!"  </p><p>"You gonna wake him, makin' all dat noise."  </p><p>Napoleon jumped again, spun around, winching as he jarred the leg.  A white-shawled, ancient, tiny, black woman stood just inside the door.  He shut his hanging jaw, glanced from her to Illya.  </p><p>In a soft voice he said, "I thought..."  </p><p>"Know what ya thought,"  she said.  "Were wrong, weren't ya."  </p><p>"But he wasn't breathing."  </p><p>"Well, he be breathin' now."  </p><p>Napoleon was still not sure what had happened, didn't really care at the moment.  He looked back at his sleeping partner.  "He'll be all right?"  </p><p>"Oh Lordy, you both be all right."  She shuffled over, took him by the arm. "You go'n to bed."  </p><p>Napoleon resisted, easily pulled away.  Going back to the bed he ran a hand though Illya's hair, dropped it to his shoulder just under the edge of the quilt.  He realized that Illya was nude under the warming quilts.  It was also at that moment that he realized that he was similarly unclothed.  </p><p>"Lordy child, you is blushin' all over!"  The woman laughed behind him. "Your clothes be drying by the fire.  Couldna' much leave dem on."  </p><p>Trying to maintain as much dignity as possible Napoleon straightened up, moved his hands down to cover as much as possible and walked very slowly back to the room he had been in.  He had a thousand questions for the little, lovely lady but they would have to wait.  He was asleep before the covers were pulled up.  </p><p> </p><p>Someone yelled his name.  He was awake in a flash, up and moving, barely conscious of the slight pain in his leg.  He threw open the door, moved toward the room where Illya was.  At the same time the other door swung open and Illya sprinted out.  They collided in the middle of the main room.  </p><p>Illya's hands took a strong hold on Napoleon's upper arms. "Napoleon.  I couldn't remember much...I thought you might be..."  </p><p>"I thought the same thing about you, buddy."  They smiled at each other.  </p><p>The smile in the light blue eyes chased away the last of the cold.  Napoleon's hands tightened, holding his partner just far enough away so he could stare into his open, relieved expression. After a minute a blush brought more color to the pale cheeks and Napoleon laughed, giving his friend a hard hug before stepping back.  </p><p>"I'm very happy to see that we were both wrong,"  Illya commented quietly.  </p><p>"I think we'd better thank the lady who saved us."  Napoleon glanced around the empty room.  </p><p>Illya watched his partner, confused.  "What lady?"  </p><p>"The one who found us."  He remembered that Illya had been... unconscious when they were found.  "A lovely lady that I intend to buy the world's best present, brought both of us back here."  </p><p>Illya looked puzzled.  "I haven't been awake very long but I haven't seen anyone."  </p><p>"Maybe she's out getting wood or something,"  Napoleon offered. </p><p>"While she is, we should get dressed for our own modesty's sake if not for hers."  </p><p>Illya's blush grew worse.  They moved toward the fire, took the dry clothes off the grate; Napoleon limped a little. As he sat down to pull his pants on he realized that Illya was watching him carefully.  </p><p>"You were hurt?"  It was mostly question, like he was trying to touch an old memory.  </p><p>"Twisted my leg,"  Napoleon answered quickly, not wanting to think about the cold, white woods.  He stood up, touched the slight cut on Illya's cheek.  "Hurt?"  </p><p>"No. You should have that leg checked,"  Illya insisted.  </p><p>"Yes, Mom."  Napoleon smiled, suddenly feeling very friendly with the whole world.  He snapped his fingers. "I bet that's where she's gone.  Now that the weather's let up I bet she went to get help."  </p><p>Illya nodded, still not sure what to make of this mystery lady. He rubbed his chest absently. Napoleon noticed the strange gesture. Still not ready to think about the terror he had felt in the snow bank, he tugged Illya's arm. "I'm starved.  I don't think she'll mind if we raid the kitchen."  </p><p>An hour later they were stretched out like contented house cats in two chairs facing the fireplace.  Napoleon was almost asleep when Illya prodded his arm.  </p><p>"Napoleon?"  </p><p>"Humm?"  </p><p>"Thank you."  </p><p>Napoleon woke up, looked over into bright blue eyes.  "For what?" </p><p>“What you did out there in the snow.  You saved my life."  </p><p>Napoleon flinched.  "Did I?  If it had been left up to me we'd both be dead."  </p><p>Illya recognized his friend's reluctance to talk about it.  "Then thank you for what you said."  </p><p>"Which was?"  Napoleon queried softly.  </p><p>Lowly, Illya said, "About me being more than just your partner. I've never... had anyone who felt that way before."  </p><p>"I didn't think you heard that,"  Napoleon felt the heat rise in his cheeks.  </p><p>Illya smiled. "Why?  Do you regret saying it?"  </p><p>Napoleon looked shocked.  "No!  I'm just not very good at saying things like that to people.  At least, not the ones I really care about."  </p><p>They smiled at each other again.  Illya raised the mug of cocoa he was holding.  "To the best UNCLE has ever seen."  </p><p>Before Napoleon could raise his glass there was a knock at the door. He stood up, sighed, reluctant to lose the moment, return to the realities of the outside world.  "Our benefactor must have brought the cavalry."  </p><p>He opened the door, not surprised to find a State Trooper standing in front of him.  "Officer, glad to see you."  He shook the man's hand, motioned him in.  "I'm Napoleon Solo, this is Illya Kuryakin."  </p><p>"Sergeant Sanders."  He shook Illya's hand.  "You two must have come out of that wreck Reverend Mirrest reported down by the river."  </p><p>The statement confused Napoleon.  "Didn't, uh, I don't know her name, the lady tell you where she found us?"  </p><p>The officer looked decidedly uncomfortable, and a little exasper  ated. "Black lady?  About 4'11", white hair, strong accent?"  </p><p>Napoleon nodded.  "Yeah, she found us in a snow bank."  </p><p>"Brought you here in a horse and buggy?"  </p><p>Napoleon exchanged glances with his silent partner.  "Yes," he answered warily.  </p><p>"Happens every time."  The officer shook his head.  </p><p>"What does?"  Illya questioned.  </p><p>"Her name's Lily Jefferson.  Every time there's an accident, she goes out and gets the people involved, brings them back here.  That's how I knew where to come when we didn't find any bodies at the wreck."  </p><p>"So where is she?"  Napoleon didn't like the odd tone in the officer's voice or the way he kept shaking his head.  </p><p>"Mr. Solo, Lily's been dead for over 50 years."  </p><p>Napoleon sat down with a thump next to Illya.   </p><p>Seeing that his partner was in no condition to talk, Illya cleared his throat and asked, "But this cabin, who does it belong to?"  </p><p>"Oh, it belonged to Lily and her husband.  He was pastor at a church near here before the Civil War.  He died, she stayed on. She'd go out, no matter what the weather, tending sick, helping lost travelers, visiting elderly. 'Doing God's work.' she'd say."  The officer's voice had taken on an echo of pride. "When she died, 1910, the local church bought the cabin, left it up as sort of a memorial to Lily."  </p><p>"When did..."  Napoleon stared.  </p><p>"About 1923, was the first case.  Church folks came by after one blizzard to see if any damage was done.  Found this poor fellow, horse had broke his leg few miles from here, thrown him.  He told the same story you two did."  </p><p>His voice turned back to business.  "We pulled your car from the river. Not much left of it.  If you want to come with me we'll fill out a report and see what we can do about getting you fellows another car."  </p><p>"Sergeant Sanders, could we have a minute before we leave?" Napoleon finally found his voice.  </p><p>The man nodded, "Yeah, that's normal, too."  He left without a word, closing the door behind him.  </p><p>There was a long, long silence.  Napoleon shivered, closed his eyes as he thought back to that moment in the snow.  "I think you...I know...you weren't breathing, Illya."  </p><p>"It doesn't matter, Napoleon.  I am now."</p><p>The words and their truth warmed the chill that had crept over Napoleon. "That's what Lily said.  I did wonder how she got us in that wagon."  </p><p>"How are we going to explain this to Mr. Waverly?"  </p><p>The warmth spread, bringing with it the feeling of right with the world that Napoleon had experienced earlier.  "Well, we've got a week to think of something." He stood up, extended his hand for his partner.  "If we hurry we can still make Christmas dinner.  And I think there might be a church service tonight, too."  </p><p>"It's Christmas, Napoleon,"  Illya reminded him.  "And all our presents, including yours, are at the bottom of the river."  </p><p>"Illya,"  Napoleon said seriously. "Lily gave me the best present I've ever gotten." He gave him a quick hug.  "Merry Christmas." </p><p>Illya blushed again. "Merry Christmas, Napoleon."  </p><p>Just before he closed the door Napoleon added softly, "And you too, Lily."</p>
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